You Had Me at Murder
by DamnI'mRandom
Summary: AU in which John and Sherlock meet... on the World Wide Web. Sparks fly, romance happens, and so on. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

_So this is the first time I've ever tried writing an AU – mostly because I haven't really had an idea for one before. But this idea was persistent (it's been hibernating in the back of mind for an __extremely__ long time), and so I'm trying it out._

_I really have no idea how it's going to turn out, but… *shrugs hopefully* _

_Let me know what you think – good or bad – because I really appreciate it. Should I carry on with this? Should I not? Let me know. _

…

'Sherlock Holmes, you need to put yourself out there!' Mrs Hudson chides.

'"Put myself out there?" Hardly. I'm quite content on my own, thanks. No need to do any of that.' Sherlock scoffs, not meeting her eye when he says so.

'Alright fine, if you insist on being stubborn…' Sighing, she lets go of the arm she'd grabbed in a fit of desperation. His arm is thinner, she notices, and there are more of those tiny crescent-shaped scars, no matter how much he tries to hide them. _He really needs to take greater care of himself_, she thinks.

As if reading her mind, Sherlock retorts, 'Oh, for god's sake, Mrs Hudson, I am thirty-one years old! I think I'd know what I need and what I don't.' He pats her on the back affectionately, however, then turns around and makes to leave. He smiles despite himself.

Something tells him this discussion's just been postponed, not finished.

Once back upstairs in his flat, he fishes out his laptop from the behind the couch (how it ended up there he really has no idea) and opens up his web browser. Against his will, he decides to follow Mrs Hudson's advice – if only to make her happy. When he tells her that he's done as she advised, the lady will be ecstatic. Poor, sweet Martha Hudson.

Despite his gut telling him that this is a bad idea, he opens an 'online dating' website, as it advertises itself, and fills in the details.

_Interests… _hmm, what could he write under _interests_? _Murder, _he decides, _crime, science, experiments, adventure._ Adventure? Not exactly. _Thrill-seeking_ would perhaps be the better term for it.

And he's set. Good to go. Mundane people can now find him and attempt to entertain him with their mundane lives. And if one of those people turn out to be more than just a tiny bit interesting, well, then Sherlock will be delighted. Or more like pleasantly surprised, and curious to know more.

_The game is on,_ he thinks, surprised to find that he's looking forward to seeing what people come up with and how this will turn out. The results should be interesting. He has the inputs, the data will be collected over a period of time.

Call it an experiment, if you will.

…

John Watson is tired of staring down the barrel of guns, be it other soldiers' or his own. He's looked at his own Browning often enough this past month, wondering what it'd be like to accept its cold embrace. To die the same way his comrades died, but this time, he'd be the one pulling the trigger on himself.

He's had enough of staring down the barrels of guns, and he quits doing so today.

It's been a month since he's been back in London, being invalided home from Afghanistan, and it's time to get back into the essence of the city, into the essence of _life_. Find a few old friends, make some new ones, maybe, date a few girls… it was time he got back into the world of the living. The past was in the past.

He heaves himself off his tiny bed, takes the step towards his rickety chest of drawers and takes out his cheap, just-bought laptop (the cheapest he could afford – even the teenaged salesperson judged him on that). He logs on the internet, checks his email (not that he has many – just a few from Harry, which he decides to ignore. He's too proud to ask for help, even from his alcoholic lesbian sister) and then contemplates briefly the idea of messaging the other man who was invalided home with him just to see if he'd like to meet for drinks, and then dismisses the idea almost immediately. And then he surprises himself by opening up an online dating website, filling in the necessary details and then calmly closing the laptop.

If he's going to date, he's going to do it the 'modern' way.

And he waits for responses, excitement mixed with trepidation mixed with a certain amount of calmness.

This could be interesting.

…

_Thoughts?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Well hello there. It seems I do still exist. It's been forever since I last wrote anything, I know, but to be fair (and these are all just excuses, I know how flimsy they sound, even to myself), I've had practicals and exams and parties and the start of a new school term to keep me occupied. Anyway, I'm now back to writing, and I'm so sorry I haven't updated this story in the last 2 months, even though I'd promised to. Hopefully, y'all still love me! Also, this is a longish chapter, so please do review! – R_

…

It's been a week since he made that profile on that… thing. And the urge to open it and check if he's got any messages on his profile is getting stronger and stronger by the minute. For even though Sherlock Holmes is well aware of the attractiveness of his own physical attributes, he feels the need to have others validate it for him.

He wraps up the current case he's working on (it doesn't even count as a case; it's a _two_ – he'd asked specifically for a six or greater, but then again, Lestrade does have a tendency to exaggerate the ratings just to get him out of the house), frantically waves off Lestrade and makes his way into the cab which is waiting to take him back to Baker Street.

It's a betrayal of how nervous he is with anticipation how long it takes him to get the key into the keyhole and then open the door. He spots Mrs. Hudson – who instantly waves him over for a cup of tea – and decides to humour her and engage in small talk. Even though it definitely isn't his kind of thing, he does make the occasional exception for his landlady. And engage him in talk does Martha Hudson – she goes on about her latest date with Mr Chatterjee and then tells him about all the gossip that Mrs Turner has gathered about those 'two young ladies down the street that just moved in' because, as she says, 'It's important to be updated with what's going on in the world around you – you never know what you can use against whom, you know.'

After which Sherlock makes his excuses and is about to leave, but then Mrs Hudson, sharp, uncanny Mrs Hudson, stops him with a hand to his shoulder and says, 'Sherlock, I do hope you thought about what I suggested. It's a big pool of people out there, and you never know which fish you might catch for yourself – '

Sherlock protests this fish analogy with a clear of his throat.

' – and frankly dear, I'd love to see you happy with another person. No, you may be happy, but you aren't _happy_. If you know what I mean,' she finishes smoothly. 'Now, off you go. I have to clean up this mess. And for the last time, Sherlock Holmes, you will _not_ throw your chemicals in the biodegradable bins. God knows what's fermenting in them.'

She shoos him away with a wave of her hand, already focussed on washing the dishes piled up in her sink.

Sherlock shakes his head fondly and heads upstairs, tingling slightly with anticipation.

He deposits his coat and scarf on the hook beside the door and picks up his laptop, which is somehow inside the fireplace (thank God he doesn't light fires in that thing), logs onto the website, and looks.

_Messages: 147_

_Profile hits: 798_

All in the last seven days. Sherlock smiles to himself and begins to sift through the messages that he's received – as expected, most of them are just blokes looking for a quick shag. He quickly deletes most of the messages, narrowing his list of potentials (decent-looking, interesting profiles, similar interests) down to just three people:

_Vincent James_

_Andrew Wesscot_

_John Watson_

_Things are beginning to look up in a rather exciting way,_ he thinks, as he begins to message the first on his list – and stops short. For some reason, he has the feeling that he should message the last one first.

'_Hello', _he writes, '_I saw your profile and it seemed interesting enough. I was thinking maybe we could go out for coffee sometime_ (everyone always seems to like going out for coffee to 'get to know each other better', and so he employs this bit of trivia stored away in his memory in this situation).' He hits enter and waits for a reply.

…

John's been job hunting for the past week now. He's submitted his rather impressive resume to several hospitals in and around the area where he lives, and he's hopeful that he'll get a call for an interview in at least a few of them. He may be over-qualified for some of the jobs, but that doesn't matter.

He's been checking his online dating profile frequently over the past few days, but none of the hits on his profile seem interesting enough to merit a message. They're all just young ladies and even a few men who're looking for a night's shag – which, incidentally, is not what he's looking for. Casual dating, sure, but not one-night stands. He's almost given up hope until he notices a message from one _Sherlock Holmes_, asking to meet up for coffee maybe sometime. Is he a man or a woman? The name _Sherlock_ is a bit ambiguous, he thinks.

John checks the person's profile – yep, definitely a man. Interests seem grisly (_Murder_? Really?), but _adventure_ and _crime_ seem interesting enough. _Worth a reply_, he decides.

'_That seems good enough, but I'd like to get to know you a little better first. How about we chat online for a bit and then if we actually do think that we should meet up, we can meet for coffee? – John.'_ There, that seems about right. After all, he does want to make sure that he actually does find this man interesting before deciding to meet.

Waiting for a reply, he switches the laptop off and closes his eyes, dozing off within seconds. _There's some hope here_, he thinks sleepily.

…

_Thoughts?_

_(PS – I'll be updating more regularly now. Hopefully. Unless I die in the middle of writing the story.)_


End file.
